Sophie Weston - The Bridesmaid's Secret

‘Fine,’ she said, preparing to enjoy herself.

The jockey stopped talking. The unforgiving beat started again. At once Bella was moving: hips, shoulders, feet, all talking back to the music.

Gil, whoever he was, began to dance too. But he made it very clear he was not letting her go. Every time she spun and jumped, his hand was there to guide her back to his side.

Exciting, decided Bella.

She grew bolder, challenging him, trusting him not to let her go. His hands were like iron as she bent away from him, her hair brushing the floor. She straightened, laughing delightedly.

At the end of the set, she was hot and breathless. Gil looked down at her, his eyes glinting. He was not even breathing hard.

He must be very fit.

One of the Japanese visitors came up. Even without his tie, he was still impressively courteous. He made a little breathless bow.

‘You have been most kind. We thank you.’

Bella read the signs. ‘You’re ready to go?’

Mr Ito was regretful. But there was an early plane to catch.

‘No problem,’ said Bella, detaching herself from Gil and dismissing him from her mind. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

She was piqued that Gil did not try to stop her. After all that possessive machismo on the dance floor she would have expected him at least to ask for her phone number.

She would not have given it to him. Of course she would not. But he should have asked. But when she looked round the tall thin figure was nowhere to be seen.

She shrugged, trying to laugh it off.

In the cloakroom, Rosa, one of the other club regulars, was fluffing out her hair.

‘Who’s the hunk?’ she asked Bella in the mirror.

Bella shrugged again. ‘Who knows?’

‘Thought you were going for the big one there.’

‘Big one?’

‘Don’t be so prim and English! I thought you were going to let him have a date. For once.’

‘You know me. Easy come, easy go.’

‘You danced so well together.’

Bella gave her an ironic look. She knew quite well what Rosa was talking about. ‘It doesn’t always follow.’

Rosa laughed.

Bella retrieved her outdoor things. Her coat was a thick wool mix and ankle length. Her scarf was cashmere and her gloves were lined with mink. New York in February was not kind to bare flesh. She even slipped her strappy sandals into her bag and pulled on fur-lined boots.

Since she was in charge of tonight’s official entertainment, she had a limousine on stand-by. She fished her tiny phone out of her recovered shoulder bag and dialled the chauffeur.

‘Ready to go Arnie. Back to the hotel. Can you drop me off after? Great.’

Rosa was reapplying lip-gloss.

‘Going to see him again?

‘He didn’t ask.’

‘So?’ Rosa lowered the lip-gloss and met her eyes in the mirror. ‘What’s wrong with asking yourself? This is the twenty-first century you know.’

Bella flinched.

‘Yeah, so they say. But I’ve been there, done that and it didn’t work.’

‘Can’t have done it right,’ said Rosa with conviction.

Oh, I did it right. He just didn’t want me. He wanted my sister.

She said aloud, ‘Yes, that must be it.’ Her voice was colourless.

‘So why not go for the tall guy?’

Because I’m never doing that again, ever.

‘Maybe I will. But not tonight. I’ve got to get the honoured visitors home.’

Rosa accepted that. She was serious about her career too.

‘Shame.’ She put away her make-up and gave a last encouraging lift to her big hair. ‘See you Saturday?’

Saturday was the club’s big night. Bella had been a regular ever since she’d arrived in New York.

‘Count on it,’ she said, throwing off the glooms.

The guests were effusive in their thanks. She stood outside the gleaming modern hotel shaking hands and bowing until she thought her face would freeze. But eventually they went inside and she got thankfully back into the limo.

The driver was looking in his rear mirror.

‘Who’s the guy?’

‘What?’

He jerked his head. ‘Just got out of a yellow cab. He’s coming over.’

Bella turned to look. A cab pulled away. In its wake it left a figure, just out of the hotel’s neon, solitary in the deserted street.

He looks cold, Bella thought, then, involuntarily, He looks lonely. As lonely as me?

The man was tall as a tree, a black figure in the blue dark. His shoes were polished, though. She could see the reflection of the hotel’s starburst sign skimming across his toes as he moved. It made him look as if he was walking through water.

Like a ghost, or one of the ancient gods, temporarily lost on earth. It was oddly powerful. Bella shivered.

‘Don’t know him,’ she said positively.

But he came over, his heels clipping on the icy pavement. He bent down by her door.

Arnie did not lower the window. He shifted on the seat bracing himself unobtrusively. ‘Trouble?’ he asked.

Bella was realising that she did recognise the dark figure after all. It was the man who had not asked for her phone number.

‘Trouble? I don’t think so. He was at the club.’

Gil rapped on the window. Arnie looked across and flicked an experienced eye over him.

‘Well, he may be a nut but he’s not a bum. That’s a thousand-dollar coat. Want to talk to him?’

That dance had been exciting. It had made her feel alive. For those hectic minutes in his arms she had even forgotten the soul-killing loneliness.

‘Yes,’ said Bella.

She got out.

Arnie sat back watchfully. He did not turn off the engine.

Bella huddled her coat around her. She was a New York babe now, meeting sexy strangers with a watchful humour. She gathered her sophistication round her as tightly as the coat.

‘This isn’t coincidence, right?’ Bella said to the tall dark shadow.

Gil nodded. ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound it. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘And that’s your excuse for following me?’

‘Reason. Not excuse.’

‘Word games,’ said Bella dismissively. She pulled her coat tighter. ‘There are laws on stalking you know.’ But she sounded more curious than threatening and she knew it.

For a moment he looked completely blank. Then he gave a great shout of laughter.

‘I didn’t think of that. God, this town is paranoid.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with this town. I’d say the same in London or Paris.’

‘If you think I’m a stalker, why did you get out of the car?’ he countered.

It was unanswerable. She stamped her feet, not entirely against the cold, though early morning ice was frosting the kerb. The hotel would send someone out to clear the ice soon, Bella knew.

She said, ‘I got out of the car because I didn’t want you to make a scene.’

He was unimpressed. ‘Why should you care if I make a fool of myself?’

‘I care if you make a fool of me. I’ve just delivered some influential people here. I don’t want them thinking I’m—’ She stopped, realising too late where it was taking her.

‘The sort of girl who gets out a car to talk to strangers at two in the morning,’ he supplied helpfully.

Bella glared.

He was all innocence. ‘What?’

She gave up. ‘All right. What do you want?’

‘To talk.’

‘We talked.’

‘No, we didn’t,’ he said calmly. ‘We exchanged pheromones. Very rewarding but now I’d like to go somewhere warm and talk.’

She thought of Rosa’s tolerant comments in the cloakroom. Did this man think that they’d danced together so well she would let him take her to bed?

She said furiously, ‘No way.’

He blinked. Then, infuriatingly, he gave her a reassuring smile. Reassuring! As if she, Bella Carew, sophisticate of three continents, needed reassurance. As if she couldn’t handle herself, no matter what a man chose to throw at her.